I woke up feeling very refreshed from a night in the tent. I am surprised how comfortable sleeping on the ground feels to me as it usually takes days or even weeks for my body to adjust. Waking up in a tent also invoked certain packing rituals that I have come to enjoy in my travels. As with backpacking, space is limited on a bike, so everything you carry must have a purpose or you are just carrying it. With so few material possessions to manage, it forces an ordered simplicity that often eludes we people of modern society with our mounds of consumer goods filling every room of our house.
After a hearty scramble and five cups of coffee at the Bear Trap I began the process of sunscreen application. This is something I take pretty seriously since my skin does not do well in the sun, especially at elevation. I try to keep covered with clothing while I ride but sometimes the heat makes it impossible.
At twenty miles into my ride I crossed into the town of Saratoga, home of some famous hot springs that unfortunately were over flooded by the river. I stopped on for snacks at the same grocery store I had been to seven years prior. I might be mistaken, but I could swear the exact same lady was at the register greeting all customers with a warm, “HOOOOOOOWWWWWDEEEEEE!”
Today the terrain changes from mountains to high desert – this means higher temperatures and higher wind speed, but also amazing desert flora and fauna. While riding along I met two cyclists heading the other direction, one headed to Colorado and the other all the way to Savannah, Georgia. They told me that using a website called couchsurfing.com they had managed to find free accommodations in the town of Rawlins with a nice fellow by the name of Rick.
At the next gas station I gave Rick a call to inquire if he could put Kurt and I up for the night. He said that would be fine and instructed us to visit his house anytime that afternoon as he leaves his door unlocked. Score!
My excitement at having found a place to stay down the road was quickly dashed by the cycling that lay before me on Interstate 80. It is an unfortunate fact that the TransAmerica Trail runs on Interstate 80 for 13 miles but there is no way around it. The shoulder is huge and clean, but the mass of noisy trucks and cars, coupled with a big headwind, made a very stressful ordeal. One interesting subplot of this segment was watching one cop pull over seven different cars for speeding. Motorists traveling through Wyoming you have been warned!
I said goodbye to Interstate 80 at the town of Sinclair, the home of the Sinclair Oil Refinery. The town, as expected, looks like an oil refinery town—dirty and unwelcoming. But at a local gas station I was graciously given permission to load up my bottles with much needed ice water.
After a Monster Burger at Patti’s Diner in Rawlins we set out to find Rick’s house. I was pleased to find a quaint bungalow filled with bike equipment. A short while later Rick arrived and we all got to talking about our stories.
Rick works as a Case Manager at the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Rawlins. He is a bike racer and enjoys putting up cyclists like us up for the night. He let us do laundry, and proceed to cook us a pasta dinner and breakfast the next morning. All he is asked in return was a cold six pack of Alaska IPA! Although much has changed in the seven years since I had completed my first trip with couchsurfing.com and other websites popping up, Rick is what is known as a Trail Angel, meaning he looks out to support people doing long trips for no other reason than he is a nice guy.
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